


Love Will Tear Us Apart

by a_lanart - the younger (a_lanart)



Series: Subtext [4]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-28
Updated: 2010-04-28
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:20:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_lanart/pseuds/a_lanart%20-%20the%20younger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On screen we were never shown how Harry and Tom dealt with the trauma of Akritiria in 'The Chute' or even afterwards. This is the beginning of that story...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Will Tear Us Apart

**Author's Note:**

> Title and lyrics from the song by Joy Division

~*~

Love Will Tear Us Apart

*

 

"This man is my friend, nobody touches him!"

Those words are just about all I remember of our last moments in the Akritirian prison, and our return home. A simple statement you may think, and not particularly significant. But when you're lying more than half dead in a bloody heap; surrounded by vultures; weak from hunger, thirst, pain and fever and not even entirely sure how long you can manage to hold on to the travesty your life has become; heartfelt words like that are like a beacon of fire in the cold and creeping darkness. Despite the clamp, despite having tried to kill me not long before, despite Zio, despite *everything* in that hell-hole, Harry meant every word. He was so fierce, so determined, so damn *frightening* that I could hardly believe that this was the same person as the one who shared my life and my bed.

# # # #

Back on Voyager, in sickbay, as soon as I was able to, I watched you. Quiet. Withdrawn. Not meeting anyone's eyes, not even mine, until the Doctor started commenting on the effects of the clamp. Then you raised head to look at me.

"Zio was right..." It was barely a whisper. And your eyes... Oh God, the look in your eyes... so much pain, so much horror. I just wanted to reach out and comfort you, but somehow I knew you wouldn't accept that from me even if it hadn't been for everyone else there.

 

So we left, and I tried to convince you of what *I* regarded as the important thing to take away from the whole soul-destroying experience. Tried being the operative word. We treated ourselves   
to that dinner we'd promised each other, and you put a brave face on things, but I knew something was wrong. But did you tell me what? Did you fuck.

 

I was trying not to panic at seeing you get steadily more and more uncomfortable with me. Uncomfortable *never* having been a word that I would have used to describe our relationship, whether as friends or lovers. When you finally escaped to your own quarters... yes, escaped is definitely the only word to describe the way you left... the anger that ran through me was almost overwhelming. I picked up the nearest object and hurled it across the room, to see it shatter on the wall next to the door.

"No! I *won't* let this happen!" How I thought I could stop it, I'll never know, but there was no way I was going to give up without a fight; even if it meant fighting myself half the time. Then it hit me. The look on your face as you near as dammit ran out of my room, and the look in your eyes there in sickbay....

I couldn't stop the tears of rage and pain that ran scalding down my face, but what I really wanted to do was inflict some serious damage on certain people back in that hell-hole of a prison. Lasting, *permanent* damage. The more, the better. But it would never be enough.

 

# # # #

 

Another day. Another day of hope and worry. Another day of being so *aware* of your hurt that even flying takes second place. And you still say nothing. You're clinging to normality by the skin of your teeth; *I* can see the difference in you, but it seems no-one else can. Or maybe they do. We've been left pretty much to ourselves the last few days, even since our return to duty. It's as if everyone has decided we just need each other to get over Akritiria, as if we'll work through it together as we do with everything else. Only we're *not* together, are we? Oh you sit with me, spend time with me, but I think that's because the alternative of being on your own is too horrific to contemplate. You aren't *with* me, not in the way that I've gotten used to in the last few months.

 

The other night was an example of that. We were outside my quarters. You were about to leave for your own, not something you've been in the habit of doing until a few days ago. I couldn't stand another night without you. I needed you near me, needed to hear you breathe, needed to *know* you were alive. So I begged. And hated myself for it.

"Stay, Harry. *Please*..." So you stayed, but you weren't happy. You let me hold you for a while - though it was like touching spun glass, you felt so fragile in my arms - until I fell asleep.

I woke alone. And I'm sorry, but I hated *you* for that.

 

So here we are in limbo; going nowhere fast, both of us hurting and seemingly unable to do much about it. We distract ourselves with work, though I feel more like an automaton at the conn than the *real* Tom Paris. My instinct seems to have left me, though maybe it's just because my focus has shifted. God only knows what you think or feel while you're at Ops, I can't tell any more. All I can tell is that the enthusiasm has gone; and for more than just your job.

~*~

When the routine bites hard,  
And ambitions are low,  
And resentment rides high,  
But emotions won't grow,  
And we're changing our ways, taking different roads.

Then love, love will tear us apart again.  
Love, love will tear us apart again.

~*~

It's been a particularly bad day for you, I can see it in your eyes. I want to touch you, but I know I don't dare to do that - after all, I have some idea about the ghosts that haunt you, but I can't say anything. Instead, I offer what *I* think you need and what you're most likely determined to say that you *don't* need...

Me.

I realise just how desperate you must be feeling when you accept. You even take my hand as we pass through the deserted corridors, clinging to my fingers like a frightened child. I rejoice in your touch, though I know it won't last, and I'm crying inside at your need for the touch of my hand, however fleeting. The tears burn my eyes without falling when it becomes obvious that you intend to stay the night. Maybe we can still get through this...

 

I watch through sleep dazed eyes as you turn away from me again, pushing my hands as far away from you as possible. I'm beginning to wonder why you even bother with the semblance of being together any more, you've shut me out of your mind and your heart without a thought for yourself or for me.

Oh I know people say to expect changes after traumatic events, but not this encroaching *coldness* where once there was shared love and laughter and tears. Not this stranger in my bed with the face of Harry Kim. A man who hardly speaks any more, who can barely bring himself to touch me, and who sure as hell won't let me touch him.

You need me, and yet all you do is push me away. I know the signs, and it makes my heart bleed to see them in you. I can only keep trying to reach you, and hope that eventually you'll let me in, before all the love we feel... felt... for each other turns to hate.

 

~*~

Why is the bedroom so cold?  
You've turned away on your side.  
Is my timing that flawed?  
Our respect runs so dry.  
Yet there's still this appeal that we've kept through our lives.

But love, love will tear us apart again.  
Love, love will tear us apart again.

~*~

This is *no* fucking good. You're on the couch again, sleeping just as restlessly as you were next to me. We can't go on like this, something is gonna go. My sanity, or yours or our relationship. *Shit*. What the hell kind of decision is *that* to make. I'm not good enough or strong enough to get you through this. I can't. God, I love you so much and yet I can't bear to see you, can't bear to see that look in your eyes. God help me. Talk. We're going to have to talk, no matter that we haven't been able to properly since we came back from that place.

~*~

You cry out in your sleep,  
All my failings exposed.  
And there's a taste in my mouth,  
As desperation takes hold.  
Just that something so good just can't function no more.

But love, love will tear us apart again.  
Love, love will tear us apart again.

~*~

You're about to leave. So much for talking. Fucking *great* idea of mine. I have to say it again, to make sure you know.

"Harry, I *love* you. Don't do this..." You turn towards me, the most peculiar mixture of emotions in your eyes. The love is there. Still. Helpless, hopeless, and full of fear, but there nevertheless. It tears at my soul.

"And I love you, Tom. But it's not enough any more."

"Not enough? What the hell do you want? My blood? If I remember rightly, you've already had that!" I'm starting to get angry now, raising my voice. *Not* the best thing to do, not under any circumstances, and certainly not now. You just look at me sadly, shaking your head slightly.

"Tom..." I pause in my tirade, helpless to avoid the appeal in your voice. "I want to be able to raise my hand without seeing you flinch. I want you to be able to trust me heart and soul, and I want to be able to trust myself. That's what I want. I can't. *You* can't. That's all there is to it. And until that changes..." With grim finality you turn, and walk out of the door, out of my life. I sink down onto the bed, trembling, with no more tears to shed. It's true. All of it, so help me God; try as I might to deny it.

Now where the hell do we go from here? There is no light at the end of *this* tunnel, just cold and lonely darkness as far as I can see.

Oh Harry. What did they do to you?

What have they done to *us*?

~*~

Love, love will tear us apart again.  
Love, love will tear us apart again.

~*~


End file.
